Greg Iles - The Spandau Phoenix

He held one up to the light. He saw what could only be Latin.

The Spandau papers. The envelope also contained a note, written on a

piece of hospital notepaper. It said:

To whom it may concern:

I imagine your superiors will know what to do with these. The German

who wrote these words wanted his story told, but it is for your people

to decide what is best.

Signed, A good German Schneider folded the paper and slipped it back

into the envelope. Then, ignoring a long line, he stepped up to the

postal counter. The clerk made an extremely rude face and motioned for

him to move to the back of the line. Schneider pulled out his wallet,

threw a banknote on the counter, and showed the clerk his Kripo ID.

"Polizei," he grunted. "Give me some tape."

The clerk handed Schneider a tape dispenser. Schneider carefully

resealed the envelope; then he shoved it across to the clerk. "You make

sure this gets where it's going," he said. "And no slip-ups.

It's Polizei business."

The clerk snatched the envelope and stuffed it behind his counter.

He acted annoyed, but Schneider could tell he'd gotten the message.

Schneider pulled his coat collar around his big neck and ambled out into

the freezing Berlin wind.

He nodded to Professor Natterman; then he grinned. He better now.

Inside the post office, the clerk jerked the envelope out of its slot

and read the address.

Israeli Ambassador c/o Israeli Embassy 5300 Bonn 2 Simrock Allee #2

Bonn, Germany The return address was the same.

"Jews in the damned police department," the clerk muttered. "What the

hell is happening to this country?"